Elusive
by The Arcan Blades
Summary: The term lunacy was coined for the moon causing madness. And maybe it had all been madness. Does it really have to be love? Can't it be something with less fire but given with as much weight?
1. Chapter One

_**Author's Note: **_Hello, we are the Arcan Blades. I, Jade, is your dear author returning for another round of fiction. I'd like to remind you of the following:

We do NOT own Samurai 7.

We are advocates of open mindedness.

I don't claim to be an expert on anything, but you can have the assurance that I _have_ followed Samurai 7 religiously and will rigidly attempt to keep them in character to the greatest of my ability.

If you encounter anything in this fic that displeases or upsets you, you have the option to either leave or continue on in spite of it. Flaming is only going to be a waste of time as flames will be immediately disregarded and/or laughed at.

If this fic should seem like a Mary Sue to you, I will get on my knees and beg forgiveness. I was trying it out and seeing what would happen if I tried to write one. This is why you should follow the next reminder.

Read and REVIEW. This is very important.

All right! Are you ready? I hope you enjoy! Here is the fic entitled…

_**Elusive**_

_A Samurai 7 fanfic_

**Intro**

_What makes devotion different from love? Is there a line between them? Does it always have to be love all the time? Can't it be something with less fire, although given with just as much weight? How would you know the difference? How would you persist with the feeling, if you yourself do not know which one it is? _

_How do you break down a silence without words? How do you reach out and hold what you cannot touch? How do you let go, when you have never held it in the first place? How would you know when you have been answered when you have never asked the question?_

They said that the moonlight causes you to go mad. Thus 'lunacy' was coined. Luna…blamed upon the moon. The madness. Perhaps everything was madness too. Everything could've so easily been a dream. And perhaps, it might have been.

To the woman, it might have been all a dream.

To the man, it might have been all madness.

It cannot be answered, for not even they knew what it had been that compelled them both to do what they did. It could've all been the fault of that moon. That full moon that floated above in the forests so far beyond Kougakyo—so far beyond the city. The goddess who sat guiding that moon must've just watched as well. And let it all happen.

What a way to place blame... although all the same, no one was ungrateful.

The victory of Kanna Village over the great Nobuseri forces had caused a tremendous ripple among the people. For mere farmers to have overpowered those great samurai-turned mega machines was an unheard-of feat. So amazing that Ukyo himself, the son of Ayamaro and now the new manager of Kougakyo, was compelled to begin a movement that, though many were thankful for, was supremely uncharacteristic. The farmers had achieved glory, and freedom. The seven samurai—the seven deities who guarded rice, as Heihachi had said—were triumphant, although not without great price.

Gorobei was dead. The ancient inherited rice paddies beyond the island of the village had been decimated by Nobuseri forces, as a fourth of the village continued to smolder into the day. There were dozens of farmers injured. The rebuilding of the village-turned-fortress began right after the Nobuseri's Red Spider and Lightning were finished off, and continued endlessly with Shichiroji and Heihachi choreographing the entire process.

Kambei had vanished on his own without so much as word to anybody else, and his whereabouts were unknown to the farmers. The Water Maiden, Kilara, had been the last to see him walking away at the cliffside, drenched by rain, and heading for unknown ground. He left behind all the other samurai, and his self-proclaimed student, Katsushiro, was less than pleased of the matter, which said nothing for the already irritated disposition of the mechanized samurai Kikuchiyo.

Kyuzo had also vanished. And no one really knew why he had disappeared by himself like he did.

As a samurai, Kyuzo was clearly one of the most talented in Kougakyo, if not the entire land. As a person, he was horribly cold, closed within himself, unnervingly silent and unsociable to the degree that one might've been thinking that he was going out of his way just to make people annoyed with his lack of concern about that which was around him besides the mission at hand.

But now Kyuzo _had_ no mission. Not yet anyway. With Kambei gone, there wasn't really a chance of re-mitigating their previously interrupted duel to the death that they had deemed to finish one day, and thus the only reason that Kyuzo was with the other samurai to begin with. So most likely, he, like some of the other veteran samurai, concluded that Kambei had gone to the capital, Miyako, and had opted to follow him. The sooner the war ended, the sooner he and Kambei could duel, he could kill him and then he could disappear all over again.

And so Kyuzo went on his way, almost robotic with his lack of emotion towards the entire matter, on his way to the capital. But to hope for a peaceful journey to the capital was supremely idiotic—not when the Nobuseri forces, whose prides had been so terribly wounded—were only too eager to go slay every samurai they came across with. The battle at Kanna Village had sparked a war, after all. And it had spread through the whole land like a brushfire.

Within days, Kyuzo was locked in combat again with the towering killing machines that blocked out the sun whenever their shadow passed. Great metal blades slammed down in repetitive impact upon the desert soil, missing him by inches, as guns went off left and right. He had run into a squadron of Nobuseri coming back from one of the villages, their prides wounded by being deflected by the samurai there. Ukyo's schemes were progressing—his order for all the ronin samurai to go to the different villages to defend them from the terrible Nobuseri was making all the bedlam necessary for the perfect haze that marked the onset of war.

Bullets rained down on him in torrents and after swift moves of his blades that deflected the lead away, his twin swords effectively sliced through the 'tea kettle' Nobuseri like they were made of paper. The 'spiders' shot down from above, shooting lasers with their single eyes, but Kyuzo had dealt with these before, although this time, he hadn't a skittish Water Maiden to protect. It was child's play to send his blade smashing through the red-globes that were their eyes and then effectively ripping through their entire chassis.

The bigger Nobuseri, on the other hand, made every attempt to crush the red-coated blond samurai, and effectively found that their size really didn't help when their opponent was as small as a gnat to them and moved around faster than cougars at a hunt. Kyuzo rammed his swords through the slimmer areas of their joints and sent broken pieces of metal and circuitry littering the desert floor. Explosions lit the sky as robot after robot fell at Kyuzo's well-used blades. Though many had fallen, the squadron still outnumbered Kyuzo, fourteen to one.

More spiders came down and shot relentlessly at Kyuzo with their lasers, forcing him to run from range and then leap up, slashing at another tea kettle before ducking against machine-gun fire of the large Nobuseri's guns. Those guns were the size of killer whales and every shot sent towers of sand flying at Kyuzo's face and caused the earth to shake and shift under his feet. This sort of battlefield was something he was no stranger to, but by this time, he'd been fighting for three days without food or even much water. It was taking its toll on him, but he was relentless, and ignored it.

He decided that it might have been time to think about those signs when he realized something he had not before—his swords were becoming worn and chipped. Every crack and chip in a sword meant the difference between victory and defeat and Kyuzo knew this even as he continued to batter away the bullets and slash through circuits.

His vision blurred for the slightest fraction of a second because of the sands. That was all it took for a bullet to manage a hit on his shoulder. But it was one bullet, and it would certainly take more than that to deter him. He fought on.

He didn't remember much of the rest of the fight—probably because he didn't really care much of it. He won, leaving behind twenty-five feet of broken Nobuseri carcass in the desert, and was walking on still towards the capital. He still had a long way to go. As he walked on, his feet began to drag, and his view became hazy. The sun was heartless as it poured terrible heat, and the wind was as unforgiving as more sand flew into his eyes.

He had no food, no water, and rather more hits than he realized. He took a mental count of how many he'd defeated. He lost count after fifty-eight. That was a feat, for a single samurai. Kyuzo was not impressed of himself. He decided his condition was pathetic. But as always, his wall of coldness and silence prevailed—he just kept going towards the capital without any thought.

He remembered seeing a forest glade at the time when his legs finally gave way and he fell unconscious.

**Authors note: **_And this ends part one. The other character has not appeared yet. Yes. I know. Don't worry—I'll get around to it in chapter two. Please review, minna, and tell me how it is so far._


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: **The Arcan Blades do not own Samurai 7. If we did, Mike can go be friends with everybody, Alexia would keep Heihachi and Shichiroji, Jade would have Kyuzo, and Patrick can learn how to slice a whole battleship's bridge with a single swish.

Ohayou, minna! Here is part two of the fic! Please read and review as always!

_****_

Elusive

_A Samurai 7 fanfic_

In Kohaku Village, there was not very much rice. A patch of fertile land in the middle of the desert way to many other villages, the rice cultivated there was precious. And this rice was still surrendered to Nobuseri every year, like every village does, all to save themselves from the wrath of the fearsome metal samurai. The people there were quiet people, like many farming villages, squeamish at the thought of battle and losing crops.

They did not yet have samurai like the other villages, as there had been no samurai to come their way as of yet, but they were not particularly afraid of the Nobuseri. As long as everybody knew who was in charge, they were all right. They had other crops, and food was somehow always enough even if the Nobuseri came to take the rice. So life in the village continued quietly.

She did not really think that the young man at the edge of the forest was a _complete_ threat—no, not in that condition anyway. He was sand-ridden and dirty, and certainly wounded. Blood of his wounds had dried around him, though not so obvious through his red clothes. He must've tried to administer some medication of himself, and it was not done badly as in some travelers. He seemed to know what he was doing and his wounds were doing rather well.

It was not her intention to pull anyone out of the desert that afternoon—she had only come to the stream, like she did every day to get some water for the shop's needs. Still, she approached the young man in silent reverence. He had swords; she saw two of them. So he was a samurai. For a moment, she stopped several feet away, just looking at him. It was common knowledge that good samurai could tell when someone was coming close, and she did not want to seem like a threat. When he did not move from where he was standing by the glade, she dared to come closer.

He didn't seem like he was thinking very straight—judging by the way his eyes looked so glazed. She walked towards him slowly—and she realized now that there was a sword point aimed to her face. Her heart leapt to her throat. She should've know that it wasn't a good idea.

The young man looked exhausted, drained, but still rather fearsome in spite of it. She was rooted to where she stood, her heart hammering in her ribcage as he continued to keep the sword point to her face.

"Mi…yako…" he muttered as he aimed the sword at her.

She blinked, confused and still rather terrified. The capital? What about it? He said nothing else though, and the glazed look in his eyes returned. His energy was all but whittled away, but he was still standing. This only made him seem, to her, all the more dangerous. Someone that stubborn could be extremely deadly.

She was just considering backing away from him and leaving him to himself, when his arm dropped. The sword fell into the grass-littered earth, and he fell onto his knees, before falling facefirst into the earth.

For a full five minutes, she refused to move, too stunned by what just happened. And if she came any closer, he might try and slash her again. But the young man obviously needed some help, whether he liked it or not. So she decided, at least, that while he was unconscious—she'd do something about him, and then just leave him alone before he got around the mood to slashing her again. Hopefully, he would've been so tired that he would not remember seeing her either when he awakens.

The effort it would take for one young woman by herself to take a young man like Kyuzo all the way to the nearest stream in an attempt to resuscitate him from that condition was preposterous and very difficult no matter _how_ heroic anyone would think it. So, being realistic about it, she brought a fast turtle and, once certain that he wasn't going to wake suddenly and slash her, brought him to the water's side.

Night was falling when they reached the creek. She looked at him for a moment, and decided although sleep was all fine and well for him—he looked very tired indeed—he looked severely dehydrated and he had to get some liquids or he'd be lost. Setting him on the grass by the water, she scooped up some of the clear water with her dipper and brought it to his lips, carefully letting the water trickle into his mouth.

It was with no great surprise to her when, after a few moments, his whole body tensed and his eyes began to open a fraction. She only watched him try to move his hand to one of his swords. She paused for a moment, holding the dipper of water still as well as holding her breath. His hand shook even as he gripped the handle of the sword, and she slowly began to ready herself to fly off at the first lift of the blade. But then another drop of water touched his lips, and his hand relaxed slightly from the sword. She let him drink in the rest of the water, and he slipped back into unconsciousness. She let out her breath. That was close.

Deciding to finish with tending to him quickly before he got even more suspicious, she made sure that his bandages were all right. They were done well, and she was certain that he was a man of the battlefield. He knew how to treat his own injuries well. After making sure that his wounds would heal well, she cleaned his face with a damp cloth, placed a container of water next to him and some food, and let him sleep. As night had settled, she made a fire. To move him to the village now was pointless—he would most likely want to leave as soon as he was awake.

She patted the past turtle nearby, letting it eat some grass. And then she turned and watched the samurai for a while as he slept. He was not the trusting type at all. He remained rigid, as though he was expecting to be pounced on by killers even as he was in deep slumber. Her eyes wavered to the swords. The scabbards were still sandy from where they lay near their master. She had removed them from him so that he would lie down comfortably. She took a long moment of consideration before she decided to take them into her hands.

He didn't seem to wake when she took the swords near him. Rising to her feet, she drew one of the blades out, and looked at them. The sword gleamed in the moonlight and she turned it in her hands. It was well-worn, but still in good condition. It just needed a sharpening. She glanced to the samurai who continued to sleep. He must've slain many before arriving here. She sighed and looked back at the sword. It won't do him much good to have such dulled swords. They would not stand in battle for so long.

Her father (may Kami rest his soul), had been a swordsmith. Once, when they lived in the city, her father made and sharpened the swords of the many samurai there. There was a lot of work there, especially when the war came. But when the war ended, the family decided to go back to their old farm in Kohaku village. The only sharpening her father ever did then was to sharpen the scythes of the farmers.

Her father had passed away now, but she had seen him sharpening swords of samurai countless times. She had followed after him, and was now the one who sharpened the scythes of the farmers. Perhaps now, she would mend this samurai's blades.

She raised the blade to the moonlight, and it gleamed brightly. She had better begin, then. So she went to the fast turtle, took the pack from its back, took out the sharpening stone, and knelt by the stream. She had work to do.

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Author's note: Thus ends this installment. I know I haven't mentioned her name yet, but I'll get to it soon. Chapter three provides a midnight skirmish. Reviews, please!


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